


In Front of the Mirror

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Written for Porntoberfest! Sam and Gene get to it in front of a mirror.





	In Front of the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

The mirror adds a new dimension to the otherwise small room; makes it look bigger than it really is, seems to magnify their presence and draw extra attention to their intimate embrace. The setting sun hits the glass just so, illuminating the space in a way Sam has never noticed before, bouncing the sun back off of them and giving them a somewhat otherworldly glow. Sam would laugh at the absurdity of his thoughts if they didn’t ring somewhat true, somewhere in the back of his mind. Out of this world is something he can relate to, some personal reality that he holds on to, and it’s all he has to hold on to some days.

 

 

Sam pulls himself away from Gene, suddenly wanting to stroke his voyeuristic nature, or maybe to make him see through his eyes, to make him see the truth that neither of them will speak, whether out of fear or out of stubborn nature. He looks thoughtfully around the room, backing away from one confused Gene before settling his gaze on a chair, an unadorned, chair living its life nestled quietly under the small table. He drags it away from its comfortable, if boring home, past Gene and towards the door to his flat, facing the mirror he’d been contemplating. He smiles, an ear to ear giddy sort of thing as he grabs Gene’s hand, pulls him to the chair and motions for him to sit. 

 

 

There are no words as Gene sits, only a curious look, a furrowed brow. Sam swoops in, diving in to him with full force, demanding harsh lips against his own before Gene has a chance to say anything, to question this strange, sudden need of Sam’s to put Gene on display, there in the middle of the room, in front of the mirror that Gene is noticing for the first time. As suddenly as Sam lays into him, he pulls away, walking to the back of the chair, standing there with his hands on Gene’s broad shoulders, waiting for him to look, to see. He does, finally, after a loud groan of frustration, catches Sam’s eye in the mirror and watches as he leans in, darts a tongue out against Gene’s ear and runs it along the curves of the delicate skin before nipping at the lobe, gathering it lightly between his teeth and pulling, his eyes never leaving Gene’s through that mirror. 

 

 

Gene is staring at him, at them, as Sam releases his earlobe, moves his attention further downwards, along the quickening pulse in Gene’s neck, hitting that sweet spot right below his ear and causing Gene’s arms to come up, his hands to catch the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him tighter down onto Gene’s neck. 

 

 

Their joint reflection is startling to both of them, each used to only what the other looks like during the process; Gene has never been able to see the far reaches of desire in his own eyes, never been able to see the colour creep up into his own face. Sam has never been more acutely aware of the way he looks at Gene, the way his eyes darken and narrow, never known before what Gene meant about the look of determination Sam gets, as if he’s hell bent on doing nothing but pleasing Gene. 

 

 

Sam moves away again, disentangling himself from Gene’s arms, reaching over for the bottle of lube tossed on the bed and handing it to Gene before settling down on his knees in front of the mirror, wanting badly to turn around, to bury his face between Gene’s legs, allowing him the glorious view of himself as he comes undone for Sam. This other need is stronger though, this need to see and watch them together and Sam starts to undress, slowly while Gene matches him, button for button, sleeve for sleeve. Sam’s trousers and pants are off first, slipped down to his knees before Gene raises one long leg over Sam’s shoulder and Sam slides off the shoe, the sock, tugs down the material and repeats on the other leg. Sam goes from knees to arse, raising his legs in the air so Gene can tend to the discarding of the rest of his clothes, his shoes, and soon Sam is back, not on his knees but on all fours.

 

 

Gene is quick to cover his fingers with the thick liquid, quick to thrust one, two fingers inside of Sam, watching with deep interest in how Sam responds, Sam who sometimes buries his face in the pillow at this point, muffling words unheard while pushing back on Gene’s fingers. There is no hiding now, no pillow to bite into, and those words and grunts are heard while a third finger slides in, while the other hand steadies Sam’s hip, slows him down and guides him up onto Gene’s lap.

 

 

Facing the mirror, Sam settles himself slowly on to Gene’s lap, unhurriedly sheathing Gene inside of him. Gene sits excruciatingly still, hands braced on either side of the creaky old chair, unable to worry at the creak of her under their combined weight, only able to focus on filling Sam, on the almost unbearable heat surrounding him, on Sam’s skin against his in every way possible; watching Sam, watching the way his face contorts with each inch up into him, watching his eyes flutter close only to quickly snap back open again and focus on Gene’s. 

 

 

Gene lets out what is meant to be a breath as more of a groan when he is finally balls deep within Sam, Sam who is shaking and bracing himself against Gene’s knees. Hands come up around Sam and glide down the sides of his legs, settling on his thighs in quiet, unspoken reassurance. They are still for a long moment, adjusting and breathing and watching, open and honest. They start to move, Gene first and then Sam, searching for and quickly finding their rhythm, a slow, languid thing that matches the pace of the setting sun that throws it’s light against the mirror even as the rest of the room darkens, until the amber reflection starts to dim and they pick up their pace, racing against the darkness. 

 

 

Gene comes first, trembling against Sam, turning away from that darkening reflection and from that sheer honesty for the first time, burying his face in Sam’s neck instead, growling and biting him, marking him while he empties himself into Sam. He looks up at the ragged sound of his name, watches as Sam teeters on the edge of release until Gene covers his hand with his own, giving one, two last thrusts up and one, two pumps of his hand. Sam comes then, shaking and gasping as the light finally gives way and the reflection goes dark.

 

 

“Gene...” Sam says quietly, breathlessly.

 

 

“I know, Sam...I know,” He answers.


End file.
